Recovery in Twelve Acts
by Psammead
Summary: Cas has been MIA since the whole Leviathan fiasco. Dean and Sam have to learn to cope in a world without demons after God comes home and cleans house post-Godstiel. Sam  seems to adjust pretty well, Dean does not.
1. Overture: Tom Traubert's Blues

Title: Recovery in Twelve Acts

Author: Psammead

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Cas has been MIA since the whole Leviathan fiasco. Dean and Sam have to learn to cope in a world without demons after God comes home and cleans house post-Godstiel. Sam seems to adjust pretty well, Dean does not.

Notes/Warnings: Destiel, and Sabriel. Alcohol abuse, and then recovery. I wouldn't call it fluff or drama. Maybe flama? Druff? I dunno. Spoilers up to 7.02. I just always kinda wonder when I watch the boys drink on the show, what would happen if the world was saved and Dean had to face up to his alcoholism? The Sabriel part just sorta… happened. Inspired by gedry's 12 Steps, which can be found by looking up gedry and 12 steps on livejournal because this site blocks links, I think.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural in any way, shape or form, and this is why. (This = gay sex)

**Recovery in Twelve Acts **

**Overture: Tom Traubert's Blues**

Dean and Sam really thought that the Leviathans would get dealt with in some climactic, bad ass, end of the series run-style showdown, all guns blazing, and maybe they'd go out Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid style. Instead, they just stopped seeing them. The Leviathans never made a move. It was weird as fuck, and then it got weirder.

It started out with a vampire attack. Sam got bit, and they couldn't gank the vampire that bit him. They were braced for the end, Sam locked in the panic room again, Dean and Bobby pacing, waiting for him to have a symptom, any symptom, but it never happened.

Reports started pouring in from hunters all over the world. There was a mysterious absence of demon attacks. People were still getting attacked by things like werewolves and vampires, but they weren't turning.

Around the time they let him out of the panic room, Sam started claiming his hallucinations were over, that he was cured. After a few months had passed, he announced he was going back to school over dinner one day, casually, and was gone barely a week later. It seemed silly for Sam not to go back to school. After all, it had been his heart's desire, and the excuse that the world needed the Winchesters could hardly fly anymore.

Within a year, supernatural creatures were predominantly extinct. There was the odd salt-n-burn, or stray evil thing that had stayed under the radar, but it was over, really, truly over.

Dean found out very shortly after Sam's departure that he had no fucking clue what to do with himself in a normal, human world.

He stayed at Bobby's, got a job as a mechanic. Within a month, he was fired for showing up drunk. Apparently, it was easier to fight demons drunk than it is to fix an engine.

Bobby bailed him out of jail the first few times he got locked up for bar fights.

Bobby bailed him out of jail the day after he wrapped the Impala around a tree driving home after a few bottles.

Bobby brought him to court when he kicked the window out of the cop car he was in after he was arrested for instigating a street fight.

The night Bobby found Dean in the junkyard, shivering in between seizures, covered in vomit, gasping for air, was the night Bobby gave up on Dean. He hauled Dean's drunk ass to the ER, dropped him off and told the doctors that he was washing his hands of the matter. He didn't tell Sam. He figured, Dean had to learn to exist on his own, or he'd never get a chance at an apple pie life.

That morning, Dean woke up in treatment. He thought he'd been miserable before in his life, but he realized at that exact moment he'd been wrong. Yeah, his life had sucked, and yeah, he'd been unhappy, but he'd always had a reason to keep going, work to do. Now, he had nothing.


	2. Act One: I Can't Quit You, Baby

**Act One, Scene One: I Can't Quit You, Baby**

_Step One - We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable._

Bobby had warned them that he was extremely good at escaping facilities like this, so they'd locked him to the bed in the most secure room, and monitored him extremely closely.

Dean woke up screaming every night, drenched in the coldest, most disgusting, smelliest sweat he'd ever experienced. It was like a decade of alcohol abuse was trying to crawl out his pours. Smelling himself percolating in his own stench was better than the nightmares, though.

The nightmares were the worst he'd ever experienced, vivid and horrifying. He dreamed of Hell, dreamed of Sam jumping in the hole, dreamed of Cas's body melting into the lake, over and over. At the end of every dream, he found himself alone in a shitty motel room, drinking away the pain, and every time he woke up, he was shocked for a few minutes that it hadn't been real.

After a week or two, he'd calmed down enough to be allowed out of bed, and closely monitored visits to the shrink. This did not please Dean Winchester.

"You want me to what?" he gaped at the woman blinking at him from behind a very large desk. She gave him a don't-you-start-that-shit look.

"I want you to go to a meeting." She was older, curvy, with long dark hair and kind eyes, but the kindness was lost on Dean at the moment.

"Like, an AA meeting."

"Exactly an AA meeting. You don't have to talk, I just want you to go. "

"Look, Cassie-"

"Carla. Dean, please. I listened to your nihilistic rant about how nothing matters and you're all alone, and everything sucks, and I can't force you to want to stop drinking, but I can force you to stay in the clinic indefinitely. You almost died. All I'm asking is that you go to one meeting, with an open mind. One meeting."

"Will you let me out after that?"

"No, but if you hate it, I won't make you go to another."

"Fine. One meeting."

* * *

><p>"Okay, here's the thing. Step one, no problem. My life is fucking unmanageable, and I'm powerless over alcohol. I don't like saying that. I'm powerless over a lot of shit, have been for years, and I'm fucking sick of it. Bobby told me I had to quit, I knew he was right. I tried. Less than a day'd pass, and I'd be back down at the bar. But the rest of the steps, the hippie-dippy love circle, I hate that shit. Higher power fucking bullshit." Dean crossed his arms resolutely in front of himself and leaned back in his chair.<p>

"You don't have to believe in God to be in AA, Dean." Carla said.

"Oh, baby, that's not the issue here. I know there's a God. I just happen to also know he doesn't give a fuck if I drink or not, and that he doesn't give a fuck if I'm sane or not."

"Why do you think he doesn't care?"

Dean laughed on the inside at that. _Because I used to have a direct line to Heaven, that's why, _he thought, but he replied, "Look at all the horrible shit that happens all around us, the death and the natural disasters, you think a loving God would let this happen?"

"I think that there's good and evil in the world, and there's a reason for both."

"How can you find a reason in all the pain?"

"If things weren't painful, we wouldn't know when it was good. Sometimes, the reasons for bad things become apparent after the fact. Sometimes, their only purpose is to prevent others from making the same mistake."

"What about the Devil?"

"Do you believe in the Devil, Dean?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I fought him, that's why." Dean snapped, before he realized what he'd said and how it might sound crazy.

"A metaphorical devil or an actual devil?"

_Fuck, now she looks worried,_ Dean's thoughts raced to get out of this, but he was too strung out and cranky to do a good job, _fuck it, _he thought, _I can stick close to the truth, _and said, "Metaphorical. Over the last few years, my brother and I, we went though some serious shit. He got addicted to drugs, did a lot of things he never woulda done sober, ended up almost dying a few times, and he finally basically went through Hell to get sober. As soon as he got fixed up, another friend of ours, he got hooked on something, and he died."

"You said you fought the Devil, but you told me what your brother and his friend went though."

"He was my friend. Our friend. Mostly, my friend. My best friend."

"What did you do, when your brother and your friend, were dealing with their addictions?"

"Lady, come on. I can't… I worked… I had a different job, before I was a mechanic. I did… I fought bad guys, basically, and I can't really tell you more than that, but we were all going up against just bad fuckin' guy after bad fuckin' guy. I drank, all day, every day. They got hooked on harder shit. It was like we were fighting the Devil, people always dying, always just the three of us against the raging hordes of how much God doesn't give a fuck, and then Cas died, and it all just stopped. " Dean could feel the tears starting. This was the most he'd talked about Cas since he'd gone under, and he didn't like it. "I don't want to talk anymore, today, Carla. I'll go to another meeting, okay? Just, let's be done for today."

"Sure, Dean. Whatever you want."

Dean stomped back to his room, paced angrily for a few minutes, and then went to politely request he be allowed to make a call to Sam.

The phone rang, and rang, and finally went to voicemail. His throat felt too thick to speak, and this time, as he hung up without leaving a message, he did cry.

**Act One, Scene Two: You Are My One Desire**

_One year earlier..._

Sam shifted restlessly in his bed. The dreams were still coming, and he couldn't decide if they were welcomed or not. At least they were better than dreaming about Hell. They always started the same, he was walking through a forest, a green, pulsating, unbearably alive forest, and then he'd stop to examine a pretty leaf, or a rock, or something, and then the voice would come from behind him. The first time, it was remarkable because he should have been shocked, but instead, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to hear that voice.

"Heya, kiddo."

"Hi, Gabriel."

"How're things going with Hallucifer?"

"Heh. Hallucifer. I like that."

"You still seeing him?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. How's life?"

"Not good, honestly. We trapped Lucifer in the cage, you know. You didn't sacrifice yourself for nothing."

"I know, you did good, Sammy. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, I guess. But then, after… Cas brought me back, got me out of the cage, but he did it wrong, and my soul… Cas got pretty lost, somewhere along the way."

"I know. Angels are too powerful for freewill, and Raphael would have destroyed us. Cas didn't know what else to do. He didn't know how to ask for help, until it was too late. It sucks, man, but it's not the end of the world."

"I think it's the end for me, I'm locked in the panic room right now. A vamp got me."

"I know that, too, buck up, little buddy. Things really aren't as dire as all that. Don't lose faith."

Sam had woken up, still chained to the cot in the panic room, but for some reason, he now had an odd curling sensation in his gut that it was all gonna be ok.

The dreams of Hell stopped from that night on. Sam didn't know how or why, but they'd been replaced with the forest and Gabriel, and he didn't know it, but he was about to slip from consciousness into a dream that would change everything.


	3. Act Two: The Alabama Song Whiskey Bar

**Act Two, Scene One: ****The Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)**

_Step Two- Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity_

"Well, come on, Carla, the problem isn't that I don't believe in a power greater than me. There's all sorts of fuckin' things greater than me. But they're not gonna restore me to sanity. You can't come back from some things."

"I don't agree with that."

Dean crossed his arms for the thousandth time since he'd started seeing Carla, and leaned back in his chair, exasperated. "Look, I been going to the stupid meetings and I've been clean for 3 months now. They gave me two fuckin' coins and everything. I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to feel better, Dean, that's all. I want you to be able to leave here without being at high risk of relapse, and right now, I still think you are."

"Whatever. None of it matters anyway."

Carla sighed, and pushed her own chair back.

"Okay, Dean, here's the deal. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. I've seen some fucked up things in my time as a counselor, and even more fucked up things when I was using, and I've been getting the impression from you that there's a lot of things you aren't telling me, not because you don't want to be honest but because you think I won't believe you. You're never going to make any progress that way. I'm gonna suspend my disbelief, because despite what you think of people, I've seen actual crazy, and sweetie, you're not it. Whatever you've been doing that got you to this point, I need to know about it."

Dean hesitated, looking suspiciously at Carla, and then finally, let out a slow, deep breath. _Why the fuck not,_ he thought to himself, _worst case scenario, she thinks I was way fuckin' drunker than I was._

"You promise that this isn't gonna end with me in the psych ward with a nifty white jacket?"

"I promise."

"Okay. This all really started when I was 4, and my mom burned to death in a fire. See, there was this demon…"

* * *

><p>"I don't see the problem."<p>

"What the hell? How do you not see a big fuckin' problem? What sort of God would let that shit happen?"

"From what you told me, you already get it. It's free will, Dean. If God just made everything happy and perfect, you wouldn't have free will. You'd be just like the angels, unable to do anything but be virtuous and adore God. He wants you to have the choice to be good, if he just made everyone be good, there wouldn't be choice at all."

"Well, maybe at this point, I don't like the idea of Free Will so much."

"That's fine. Your will got you here."

"Well, then what's the point? You're saying that God wants us to have Free Will but he wants us to make the choices he wants us to make?"

"Yes, exactly. He wants you to make those choices on your own, and once you are willing to do so, he can restore you to sanity."

"Oh." They were quiet for a minutes that seemed extremely long to Dean, as he worked out how he felt about the idea in his head. "Okay."

**Act Two, Scene Two: Oh, Don't Ask Why**

_One year prior…_

Sam stopped next to a cliché sparkling brook. He half expected a fawn to come moseying up to drink or a bluebird to perch on his shoulder, but instead, he felt the ghost of a person behind him, and then lost his balance as he whirled around and Gabriel pushed him into the brook.

"Awesome." Sam said disgustedly, as he clambered back to his feet. "You're so funny."

"I really am." Gabriel smiled, and prissily seated himself on a nearby tree stump. "I also have serious business to discuss."

"Yeah?"

"The cage." Gabriel's face turned from lighthearted to deadly serious.

"What about it?"

"I need you to go back into it."

"For what? Why would I do that? Michael and Lucifer-"

"And Adam... And Cas and me."

"What? That's not even possible, how could you and Cas be in there? You got stabbed with the Angel Sword, and Cas just… melted, I guess. How could you possibly be in there?"

"It's Satan's cage, Sam, it was well within his powers to send me there. And Cas was sent there by the Leviathans, the grand-daddy Leviathan is the fucking mouth of hell, you think they can't come and go from the cage as they please? What better place to hold an angel? Regardless of us, your little bro, Adam, he is trapped and he is being tortured. Tortured like you were, Sam, and I know how to get you in. I know how you can get him out. All you have to do is trust me."

"What would I have to do?"

"Don't bring your stubby legged watchdog, for starters. Dean always fucks shit up. There's a woman, down in New Orleans, named Caparia. Old timer, hoo doo, all of that stuff. Go see her."

Sam woke up. He left for New Orleans, telling Dean and Bobby that he was going back to school, less than a week later. He didn't know why, exactly, he obeyed Gabriel, he only knew that it felt right that he did.


End file.
